a chill goes down your spine when you realize you aren’t alone
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the trees you grew up with have not forgotten you. their branches still whisper your name in the breeze and their roots remember the paths your feet once traced through their shade.
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I will always haunt you, seeping into your pores. Oozing through your blood like sludge. Voices in your head, filling you with dread. Mourning and Morning have the same meaning when your life is a hell of your own making.
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Erika L. Sánchez, from Lessons on Expulsion: Poems; “The Loop"
[Text ID: “a woman so hungry her insides eat her other insides.”]
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Hieu Minh Nguyen, from This Way to the Sugar
[Text ID: A body filling with ghost stories,]
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Why do you always leave? Why does everyone always leave?
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